The Monster's Monster
by TheFourthBroomstick
Summary: Something in the Forbidden Forest is killing Acromantulas


A monster was stalking the forest. There were always monsters, but this one was different. Most chose to steer clear of the acromantula nest in the southern area of the forest, lest they be caught and have the life drained from them. Of all the things lurking in the dark corners of the Forbidden Forest, none had ever been so bold as to threaten their home. But this one was different. Boldly plowing through anything in its way, It hunted down spiders with malice and glee. It left the bodies, or what was left of them, so it couldn't be doing it for food. The inescapable reality was that something, out there in the inky blackness, was killing acromantulas for entertainment. Their grizzly deaths were amusing to it.

Tales of the creature were spoken in low tones, clicked out between glistening fangs that shook in terror. Some said that it had impenetrable skin that made it impervious to venom. Kalmanah, a young spider no more than a meter tall, had been killed, crushed under its unnaturally strong foot. His final moments had been spent desperately plunging his fangs into it, only for them to glance off like they were nothing. Some say it could outrun a centaur, that once it had chosen its victim they were doomed to be mutilated. Talamog even claimed he'd once seen it fly, take off straight from the ground and go straight through a spider hiding in a tree.

It emanated an eerie humming sound, alerting it's victims to its presence just before it mowed them down with a kind of brutality that shocked even the creatures of the forest. The last thing they would ever see were the haunting lights that pierced the darkness, momentarily freezing them in shock as they were mercilessly shredded to pieces.

Aragog could still remember the first time it had been spotted in the forest. It was a late autumn night, while the colony was gathering food and preparing for the winter when It had stumbled into one of their webs. At first they assumed it was a particularly large deer, or maybe a centaur that had strayed from the herd. That was before it broke free and started eviscerating one spider after another, then bolted back into the night. Sometimes Aragog could still hear the sickening crunches. And the screaming. Oh God, the screaming! It was the worst thing he'd ever heard.

That was when the spiders from the castle started pouring into the forest, fleeing the snake. They'd felt obligated to shelter them from the menace, but how much safer could they be out here, with It prowling around in the shadows? They exhausted their food stores quickly, between the extra visitors and the difficulty gathering it. If it hadn't been for Hagrid, the colony might have collapsed. He brought fresh meat, which provided a stay of execution, but it was only a matter of time before It came back, to drill a hole in their home. They waited with baited breath for the death blow to come.

It never did though. What happened instead was that two children from the castle wandered into their nest. They weren't like Hagrid, much smaller and more skittish. They were picked up about 100 meters north of the nest, and brought before Aragog. They said they were friends of Hagrid's, that they didn't mean any harm and just wanted to leave. If it had been a year earlier, they would have been allowed to go unharmed. Aragog didn't want to have them killed, he really didn't. He had never injured a human being before, and he didn't want to start now. But they were hungry, and he didn't think he could stop his children from eating. Regrettable, but necessary.

Then It came. It was just as terrible as the stories had said. Aragog couldn't see anything, but it sounded horrific. It cut a path straight into the center of the nest, killing anything that stood in its way. He thought he heard one of the humans call it a "Car". He would have to ask Hagrid, he thought as he retreated into the trees. Maybe would know something about stopping it.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the Car vanished, taking the humans with it. The survivors descended from the canopy to survey the devastation that it had left in its wake. Dozens lay dead or dying, their ultramarine blood pooling on the forest floor. Disembodied legs twitched. His children and grandchildren, smashed into mush.

They didn't see the Car again for a long time. The refugees from the castle returned home upon learning it was safe once again. Hagrid came back a little bit after the massacre. He did what he could to help, but the carnage was too much. 26 acromantulas were dead, and countless more smaller spiders were killed as well. The corpses provided enough food for a while, but soon they were forced to venture beyond the nest to sustain themselves. The silence was deafening. Every broken twig was the car, returned to finish the job. Every beam of light coming through the trees was the cold fire that spewed forth from its face. They spent months huddled silently around one another, pleading with the night to grant them one more day.

It was three years before they spotted it again. The colony had moved on, rebuilt. They'd even convinced themselves, deluded themselves maybe, that it was gone for good. A blissful summer twilight, that cursed humming sound returned, prowling around the north. Its sides and face spiked with scores of arrows, the spiders had concluded it must have run afoul the centaurs. The acromantula were all to familiar with them, having been on the receiving end of those arrows before. In fact, it was the centaurs who had blinded Aragog all those years ago. Unlike the acromantula, who would be lucky to survive one or two arrows from a centaur, the car's skin was covered with them. They told him it looked like a giant hedgehog.

It had been spotted by three younger spiders, wandering alone by themselves. They hadn't been around for the last encounter, but they had been raised on horror stories. They scampered home, wrought with fear, the instant they saw it. The colony sprung into action, preparing for an assault. When it never came, some of the older spiders thought the youngsters had been playing some kind of sick joke. But then it was seen again, and again. It soon became clear it wasn't hunting them anymore. More than that, though, it would flee when it heard them coming, and not as fast as it had been before. It was scared. It was wounded. It was mortal.

Some had wanted to finish it, while it was weak. But even in its current state, the car would surely be more than capable of taking a number of spiders with it, if they could kill it at all. It proved this much that fall, when a band of acromantulas set out to destroy the threat once and for all. Their leader, Malbanon, had seen his mate killed the last time. More than just security, he was thirsty for vengeance. Aragog tried to dissuade them from going, but Malbanon was committed to killing his foe at any price. The price he would pay, in the end, was his life, as he and each of his companions were beaten into lifeless husks one by one.

Their fear renewed, the acromantulas took to the trees as much as they could. When they spotted the car, they scattered before it. Every few months, a fearless warrior would emerge from their ranks to drive it off. Every few months, his body would be batted aside without mercy. In time, though, they ground it down. The clear glass panes that had covered its sides had been shattered long ago. The top had been stripped off, exposing the softer interior. The swinging extremeties on its sides and back were torn off, scattered around the forest. Its feet were broken, or injured, or something, because it moved much slower than it had before, as though it were limping. The lights on it face didn't work anymore, hanging uselessly in front of it.

The car had spent nearly four years in the forest when Aragog resolved to see it beaten at last, if he had squeeze it to death with his own pincers. He left the safety of the nest for the first time in decades to chase it down, flanked by three of his strongest children. They met in a clearing, not far from where the car had met its first victims. They both knew, right then, that one of them was not escaping this fight alive.

He couldn't see it coming, but he could hear it. The angry humming still put just as much fear in his heart today as it had years ago. It plowed into him, with a force unlike anything he had thought was possible. His children had raced to him, pulling the car off him and slamming it on the ground. The beast whined in pain, but continued without pausing. It shot at his oldest son, Obaltar, pinning him against a tree. Obaltar's brother, Quenlog, careened into the car's side, dislodging the older spider, but it was too late. Obaltar was dead.

The three living acromantulas backed into the tree line, trying to lure the car into their web. It seemed to sense this, and just paced back and forth across the field, pausing every now and then to run over Obaltar's body once again, taunting them to reemerge. Eventually, the fury was too much to take, and the third son, Norkoth, burst forth, the other two joining him. He managed to fasten his fangs underneath the plate protecting the top of the cars face, peeling it back to expose the interior. The car panicked at this, spasaming wildly in every direction to throw the massive spider off. Norkoth held on though, to the bitter end. It seemed the stories of flight were true after all, and the car had lifted up 20 meters into the air, spun its opponent off, and then landed on him. There was a sickening crunch, as Norkoth's exoskeleton was pulverized beneath the car's weight.

The two living spiders moved in swiftly, assaulting the wreckage. They pulled frantically at everything they could beneath the exposed front, sending the car into wild convulsions. It smashed in Quenlog's face, then quickly reversed direction, evading the two. His fangs crushed, blood and venom quietly dripped from Quenlog's mandibles. He howled in pain, then moved in once again. The car spun around, avoiding Quenlog but rolling directly over three of Aragog's eight legs, flattening them. Aragog responded by plunging his fangs into the car, chomping ferociously. He cut through something that felt soft, but it seemed to do nothing to slow the car's advance on Quenlog. The spider tried to move, but the blood loss and injuries were getting to him, and the car came into contact with his abdomen at a blistering speed, causing it to explode across the grass. The car seemed thrown off by the impact too, and spun onto its side. One of its feet tore off one of Aragog's legs as it spun wildly, but he didn't relent. He managed to roll the car onto its back, holding on as it flailed, trying to right itself.

Aragog refused to give it the chance to do that, though. His fangs sliced at the car's exposed underbelly, managing to penetrate the interior, ripping its entrails from it. Some foul tasting liquid, car blood, he assumed, spewed forth like a fountain. The car finally rolled back over, pinning him underneath, but it was too exhausted to do anything. Aragog's fangs reached up, under the car's face, and yanked at the solid mass he could only assume was its brain. After a few sharp tugs, the block broke free, and the car went silent.

Aragog limped back to the nest alone. He could barely walk, he could barely think. Hagrid would come and try to help, but it was no use. Aragog knew he was going to die. That was okay, though. He knew, at last, his children were safe to wander the forest. At last, there could be peace. He died on a warm spring morning in his sleep, victorious at last.


End file.
